


Other Sarah

by DRHPaints



Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, Bill Hader - Fandom, Bill Hader RPF
Genre: Anorexia, Anxiety, Body Image, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Excessive Exercise, F/M, Food Issues, Heavy Angst, No Sex, One Shot, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Stress, Trauma, parental criticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27947624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DRHPaints/pseuds/DRHPaints
Summary: As Sarah tries to slog through her duties as a PA for 'Barry,' her eating disorder makes life that much more difficult. When she and Bill start dating, he carefully navigates the relationship with her well being in mind.
Relationships: Bill Hader/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	Other Sarah

**Author's Note:**

> Requested anonymously. Please read the tags before starting this story as I think it could be triggering for many. It is very unlike my usual work and (I hope) helped the person I wrote it for at least a little, and they were kind enough to allow me to publish. If you have a private story you would like to request to help with a particular issue, know that I do write stories for folks and will give it to you just as a Google Doc to keep personally. Please feel free to message me on tumblr at fandomtransmandom if that is the case. Happy to help if I can.

Zipping a hoodie over her cardigan, Sarah cast her eyes away from the mirror as she scooped up her keys, aware she would once again be at least half an hour early to the lot. She couldn’t help herself. That insatiable need to avoid the possibility of lateness, of even the slightest chance of disappointing or inconveniencing someone, clawed relentlessly at her brain, forcing Sarah out of bed whether she wanted to go or not.

And so every morning since she got the Production Assistant job at  _ Barry _ , Sarah sat in her car, thankful, for once, that she was always cold as the Los Angeles sun beat down on the windshield, and waited. Just waited, until she would be allowed passage into the building. 

Sometimes Sarah would bring the banana. Place it on the dashboard. Stare. Sometimes not. But without fail, as soon as she saw the aging security guard poke his head out, keys jangling in the lock, she scurried from her car to the door and set about her day.

“Hey…” Melting into the wall as the editors and writers milled about the kitchen area, Sarah perked up when she noticed the angular Story Editor Michael furrowing his brow. “Anybody seen OtherSarah? I think it’s time for a coffee run.”

“I’m right here…” Hoisting a sleeve-covered hand timidly in the air, Sarah was grateful that Tammy heard her half-whispered voice and she didn’t need to repeat herself as she unearthed her phone and they began pelting her with a bevy of complex coffee orders. 

‘OtherSarah’ became her unofficial nickname when, on her first day, Sarah stood in blank awe a little too close to Sarah Goldberg while her supervisor, Mark, asked her name. “Oh well, that’s never gonna work…” Shaking his head, he sighed. “We’ll just call you OtherSarah.”

To her credit, Sarah Goldberg frowned and pointed. “I mean, you could just call me Sarah G. and her Sarah…”

“Nah.” Mark waved a dismissive hand. “OtherSarah’s fine.” 

Sarah wished they would call her the truth. NobodySarah. UnfamousSarah. PlainSarah. UselessSarah. UglySarah. OtherSarah was a farce. She knew it as well as they did. 

As Sarah hastily jotted, she wanted to ask everyone to slow down, to repeat themselves. Wanted to tell them if they didn’t, she might make a mistake. Again. And if that happened, if she saw that look on one of their faces when she mixed up oat milk for soy, or switched out black tea for green, she wanted to tell them about how she spent the entirety of her lunch break smothering her mouth in the bathroom stall, praying none of the coming and going women realized the shallow wheezes escaping her nose were the sounds of Sarah sobbing over her failures.

***

Striding down the hallway, Bill spotted a harried PA attempting to carry what looked like nearly a dozen drinks in her slender arms. Bill took two steps toward her when Alec’s hand fell on his broad shoulder. “Bill? You ready. We’re about to get started.” 

“Oh.” Seeing her disappear around the corner, Bill blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Sure.” 

Meeting drawing to a close, Bill waited outside, large hands in the pockets of his brown pants as he rocked back and forth on his heels. Once his food arrived, Bill tapped his phone, giving a generous tip before strolling back inside to the break room. Crowded considering the hour, Bill joined the writers, unpacking his Chinese. 

In the far corner table, sitting alone, Bill’s cobalt eyes fell upon the same lithe PA, delicate fingers picking through a tupperware container of grapes and sporting what he thought was perhaps the most morose expression decorating another person's face outside of a hospital or funeral.

“Hey.” Bill leaned in to Troy, flinty voice low and pointing subtly. “Who’s that?”

Troy turned, not bothering to hide his stare and Bill rolled his eyes. “Who? Her?” Shrugging, Troy refocused on his sandwich. “Some PA.”

Switching over to Sam, Bill tilted his square chin. “Hey, do you know her name? The PA?”

“Oh, that’s OtherSarah.” Sam replied after finishing a handful of fries.

“OtherSarah?” Bill raised an incredulous dark eyebrow.

Nodding, Sam swallowed. “Yeah. You know, so she doesn’t get mixed up with Goldberg.”

Frowning, Bill speared a piece of orange chicken. “Isn’t that kind of...rude though? I mean...how often are they even standing next to each other…”

Troy changed the subject to the third act for the next episode and, aside from catching Sarah packing up her tiny container and flitting out behind a couple of laughing grips, Bill became absorbed in his duties for the day.

***

Sheets pouring out of the copier, Sarah stared at the wall unmoving, unsure how long she’d been doing so when the last of the documents gathered into the tray. Was she thinking? Blank? Sarah didn’t know as she scooped up the papers, clutching the warmth to her chest and scuttling down the hall to deposit them among the various inboxes. Few looked up. Fewer said ‘thank you’ as Sarah’s cold hands slipped the pages in before circling back to the break room to another assault of drink orders.

Arms laden and legs a flourish, Sarah cradled a decaf mocha latte, trying not to burn her fingers again and eyeing the rim of the cup nervously. “Shit!”

Foot stubbing in her rush, Sarah pitched forward, no less than eight drinks crashing to the floor, a brown, noxious pool soaking into the fibers of the blue carpet below. “No…” Whispering, Sarah bent down, picking up a cup and staring in horror at the meager dregs inside. “No…” 

Pressure building behind her eyes, Sarah poked a futile finger into the sodden mess, sitting back on her heels. Gathering up the tumbled lids and straws, Sarah swiped her sleeved wrist over the moisture on her face. “Stupid...so stupid…”

“Hey.” Sarah bonked her chin in surprise at the voice radiating from her shoulder and glanced up in shock to see Bill Hader crouching down beside her. “You okay?”

Mouth agape, Sarah blinked. Turning from Bill to the mess, she realized her crying must be rather obvious. “I...I spilled.”

“That’s alright.” Bill picked up a cup, wide mouth grinning. “It’s not a problem.”

Sarah was a human trapped in sleepwalking grief. Her movements concentrated, careful as Bill watched her fret over what she thought to be a disaster. Face dreamy with anxiety, Sarah’s puffy eyes never quite met his own, always seeming to address her words to an invisible entity half a foot in front of herself, as though asking them to proofread her responses.

“But…” Lips trembling, Sarah shook her head. “They’re...they’re all going to be so mad…”

“Aw…” Touching a hand lightly to her arm, Bill crossed his legs and joined her on the floor. “Nah. It’ll be okay.” Scooping up the remains of a venti flat white, Bill shrugged his vast shoulders. “They can live without their coffee for one day.”

Sarah gazed down at the spreading stain and rubbed her wrist over her red eyes. “What...what about the carpet?”

Voice gentle, Bill stuck out his lower lip as he continued corralling the scattered containers. “It’s no big deal. We’ll get someone to clean it up. Don’t worry about it.”

Cups stacked, Bill stood, holding out a big hand to help her up. “It’s Sarah, right?”

Blinking in surprise, Sarah sniffed and bobbed her head as she rose. “Yeah.”

“Bill.” Smiling, he gestured down the hall. “Nice to meet you. Come on.”

Sarah stayed a couple of steps behind him, though she would’ve found it difficult to keep up with his long-legged strides anyway. Pausing before the doorway to the breakroom, Sarah twisted her knobbly fingers and bit her lip. “What am I going to say?”

Leaning in conspiratorially, Bill nodded. “I got this.” 

Meeting Bill’s sapphire eyes for the first time. Sarah caught a glimmer of something akin to mischief within their smiling depths before his tall frame struck into the room. “Hey guys…” Firm arms spread wide, Bill offered an apologetic half smile before motioning for Sarah to follow him. “So...I’m sorry. I bumped into Sarah here when she was bringing you all your drinks.” Bill shook the empty cups in his large hand and lifted a shoulder. “So clumsy.” Teetering his head, Bill’s tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth and he bonked his brow, provoking a chuckle from those assembled at his goofy expression. “But I’ll send out for fresh coffee. Sorry, it’ll just take a bit.”

Immediately they fired at Bill with, ‘Oh no it’s fine you don’t have to do that’ and ‘no really thank you though’ and ‘it’s no problem Mr. Hader really we’ll just drink the breakroom coffee’.

Sarah suspected Bill knew that with his status at the show, not to mention his reputation as an all around nice guy, that no one would dare complain to him about missing their mochas. Hell, the way everyone fawned over him, it looked to Sarah as though they might start offering to grind Bill fresh cocoa beans by hand soon. All the same, the fact that Bill took the hit on her behalf left her throat tight as he excused himself from the room, tossing her the tiniest of winks on his way out the door.

***

Cricking his neck, Bill stood from his desk and stretched the shelf of his shoulders until he heard a satisfying series of clicks. Deciding his eyes could use a brief respite from the laptop screen, Bill moseyed to the door, peeking his head out and lifting the contents of his inbox from the file. 

Bill paged through the memos, documents, mentally deciding which ones could wait, what he needed to address immediately, when a piece of paper fluttered out of the stack and onto the floor.

Picking it up, Bill discovered a generic postcard. Nothing fancy, just a picture of the ocean and ‘Welcome to Los Angeles.’ But flipping it over, Bill found a detailed pencil sketch of the Ronin from  _ Yojimbo _ , his face set in an expression of sorrowful determination, artfully rendered beside a little yellow post-it that simply stated:  _ Thank you --Sarah. _

Bill smiled, lengthy fingers tracing the edges of the creation adoringly before choosing an unoccupied corner of the bulletin board beside his desk and pinning it, warrior watching over him as he dove back into his script.

***

Sarah exited the shower, back to the steamed mirror. Eyes landing on the scale in the corner of the bathroom, she swallowed hard. Turning, she passed her towel over the shining surface, each swipe another movement toward masochism until Sarah’s reflection stared back.

Mirror Sarah’s lips did not smile. Her eyes possessed no life, no spark. This was truly the Other Sarah. The spectral shadow she could not escape, haunting her from room to room, popping up in store front windows, spooking from the silvery closing elevator doors. This is the Sarah who clung to her narrow back, brittle nails digging and voice a taunt, dripping vitriol in Sarah’s ear as she fought to make it through one more day, one more hour.

Sarah stepped on the scale. Again. At this point the number didn’t matter. Last year, when she first arrived in LA, Sarah was...better. By comparison, at least. Perhaps not what one would call stable, but, finally free of the chiding eyes of those in her hometown, Sarah resolved to start anew.

But when she went home for Thanksgiving, her waspy waif of a mother sneered down at Sarah, plucked eyebrow raised and bony hand pinching her waist. “ _ Well, at least you’ve made friends with craft services, if no one else…” _

Donning the double layers of track wear, Sarah went through her floor routine in the minuscule living room of her efficiency apartment, sweating and trying to lose herself in the hatefully loud music thumping into her skull. But it proved hopeless, thoughts inescapable as she took her traditional second shower before choosing a long sleeve tee and sweater for the day, frustrated by her lanky hair as Sarah twisted it into the little bun behind her head and flitted out to the car.

***

Lunch tucked under his arm, Bill bopped his way down the hall and rounded the corner to the break room. Spotting Sarah once again nestled by herself at a corner table, Bill smiled. After three days he had yet to get a chance to catch her alone when she wasn’t being hassled by others about her PA responsibilities.

“Sarah, hey.” Bill placed his bag of tacos in front of a chair and Sarah’s head lifted as though she were emerging from deep water, blinking up at him in weary awe. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Oh, um…” Sarah’s arms collapsed inward, wrists rubbing together. “Nope. Go ahead.”

Sitting down, Bill began unpacking his food. “I got your card, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Biting her lip, Sarah studied a glob of dried jelly on the table leg, eager to look anywhere other than Bill’s chiseled features.

Bill frowned. “Why are you sorry? It was great. Did you draw that?” Wrapping his wide mouth around half a taco, Bill munched contentedly and raised a prominent eyebrow.

“Yeah…” Sarah offered a little nod. “Sorry, I just...I didn’t know how to thank you. I hope that wasn’t...weird.”

“Aw, no.” Shaking his head, Bill proceeded with his lunch. “It was rad. I love Kurosawa. Seriously, you did a great job.” Sarah shrugged. Though she couldn’t believe his praise, knew Bill was merely a kind man taking pity on her, it seemed rude to contradict him. A silence fell between them and Bill eyed Sarah’s untouched tupperware of carrots. “Not hungry?”

“Oh, um, nope.” Hitching something resembling a smile on her face, Sarah shook her head. “Not really, no.”

Bill examined Sarah, recalling how tight things were during his days as a PA, his awful place with the laundry room in the back and that scary ass possum lurking around… “Here,” Sliding a taco toward her, Bill grinned. “You want one?”

“Oh…” Staring, Sarah looked from the offering to a space somewhere within the vicinity of Bill’s chin. “Um, thank you, but...really. I’m okay.” Sarah bobbed her head.

Shrugging his expansive shoulders, Bill pulled the taco back. “So, what’s your favorite Kurosawa then?”

Tiny grin playing over her face, Sarah’s eyes darted. “I...really like  _ Kagemusha _ , actually.”

Bill hummed appreciatively. “Good choice. Love that one.”

Emboldened by his warm smile, Sarah piped up. “Yeah, everytime I watch it I’m just blown away by his skills. Like…” Swallowing, Sarah’s eyes were downcast as she sought the words. “How was this made 40 years ago? His cinematography, how he played with light and color...spectacular.”

Lowering his hands, Bill beamed. “Exactly. A genius before his time.” 

As they continued a tiptoeing conversation about movies, Bill finished his food and gathered up his garbage, before placing a wide palm on the table. “Alright well...thanks for letting me sit with you. And again for the drawing. That was really sweet.”

Blush rising to her pallid cheeks, Sarah folded her lips under and nodded. “You’re welcome…”

Bill stood, tall frame glancing down at her with a crooked grin as he held a large hand aloft in farewell. “Alright. Bye Sarah. See you around.”

“Bye Bill.” Sarah murmured, tucking her elbows in and allowing her eyes to follow him as Bill’s broad shoulders folded in to sneak his way past an editor and out the door.

***

Energy of the throng excitable, Sarah’s co-workers discussed their weekend plans as she restocked the cupboard with coffee filters, straws, and the various sweeteners. Though Sarah received the notification that her paycheck arrived early that morning, she planned to hold off on any frivolous spending. Perhaps, if Sarah earned the treat she would buy herself that pretty purple and silver journal she stumbled across in the quaint bookstore downtown last week. The one with the creamy paper and irregular, curdled edges. Something about it struck Sarah as elegant, romantic. But it wasn’t to be hers. Not yet. 

With her luck it would be gone by the time she met the goal, Sarah thought as she scooped up a handful of sweet-and-lows. 

“Hey.” Jumping again, Sarah couldn’t fathom how such a large man continually snuck up on her as she spun around to see Bill smiling, fingers tapping at his thick thighs and blue hoodie half zipped.  _ I wonder if he knows how good that makes his shoulders look? “ _ How’s it going?”

Backing up, there was nowhere for Sarah to disappear to as she bumped into the counter. “Oh, I’m...fine. Hi. How are you?” 

“Pretty good.” Bill bobbed his head, waves of his oceanic eyes tossing about as though in the midst of a hurricane. “So, um…” Rattling of his hands increasing, Bill folded his pink lips under, voice lowering. “ _ Ran _ is playing at Nuart’s tonight…”

Sarah turned down the corners of her lips appraisingly. “Oh...yeah? That’s cool. I’m glad they still show his work.”

“Yup…” Fisting his hands in his pockets to hide his fidgeting, Bill inhaled sharply, looking straight up at the ceiling for a moment. “You, um...you wanna go?” Bill let out his breath, dark blue eyes landing on Sarah. “I...well, everyone else I know is sick of me dragging them to obscure foreign films and boring the shit out of them afterwards with my opinions…”

Mouth hanging open, Sarah’s brain lagged, unable to process that Bill was addressing her, and not, perhaps, another, more worthy woman standing maybe a bit off to her left. “What...me? Tonight?”

“Oh if you’re busy…” Running a hand through his chestnut waves, Bill shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry, I know it’s short notice. I didn’t mean to spring it on you.”

“No, I…” Words beating against the backs of her teeth, Sarah took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Great.” Bill nodded, face breaking out in a crooked, goofy grin. “Do you want to just meet there? 6:45?”

Bobbing her head, Sarah realized she’d been strangling a bunch of sugar packets for the entirety of their conversation. “Yeah, that works.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” Bill wiggled his lengthy fingers in her direction before his white sneakers carried him away, Sarah turning back to the cabinet, dumbfounded.

***

Standing in front of her closed door, Sarah inhaled. Exhaled. After trying on no less than six outfits, despising every one, she went with the least repugnant jeans and cardigan combination, dressed an hour early as per usual, only to freeze here a foot before her peephole.

_ What the hell are you doing, Sarah? He doesn’t want you. You’re really going to go sit through almost three hours of Bill Hader’s pity? How pathetic are you? _

But Sarah’s feet wavered. She had no way of contacting Bill, of making an excuse, saying she was sick and couldn’t come. And the idea of standing him up, leaving a courteous Bill alone below the marquee, handsome face looking to and fro as he checked his phone, only to realize she wasn’t coming and sigh his way inside the theatre, was more than Sarah could bear. Not to mention facing Bill at the office on Monday. 

So Sarah hitched her purse over her shoulder, resigning herself to an evening of Bill’s sorry blue eyes, knowing she should count herself grateful to be allowed in his presence, whatever the circumstances.

Unsurprisingly Sarah lingered by the brick wall for fifteen minutes before Bill’s modest car rolled to a stop in front of the building. She spent every second of the time fretting over whether or not she should buy the tickets. Part of her thought it would be nice, that after Bill went to the trouble of extending her the invitation, it was the least she could do. Then another voice told Sarah it would be emasculating, let Bill get them, he asked her to the movie, and would probably prefer it that way. But a third voice, tone dark and laugh menacing, pointed out that this wasn’t a date, Bill could never truly desire her, there was no need to consider his manhood, for he certainly didn’t think of her as a woman. Hell, Sarah should count herself lucky Bill thought of her at all.

And so as Bill greeted her she held two stubs aloft. “I got the tickets.” Sarah spoke softly, eyes on the sidewalk. “I hope that’s…”

“Aw, thank you.” Bill smiled broadly, walking toward the box office. “Let me get the snacks, then.”

Sarah tensed as the usher tore their tickets and they headed to the concessions line, Bill perusing the menu. “What would you like? I’m a big Skittles guy, personally.”

“Oh, um...I’ll have a water. I just ate, actually.”

Glancing at her curiously, Bill nodded. “Okay.” Placing their order, Bill led the way to the theatre, bucket of popcorn under his arm. Once they sat down, he held it out to Sarah. “Want some?”

Sarah tipped back her water, shaking her head. “No, thank you. I...don’t really like popcorn.” 

Shoveling a handful into his wide mouth, Bill bobbed his head. “Yeah, after I worked at a movie theatre I couldn’t eat it for years. Even the smell bothered me, but…” Bill took another bite. “I got over it.”

Lights lowering, Sarah settled into her seat, keenly aware of Bill’s elbow on the armrest beside her. Resisting the urge to peek over at him proved difficult, particularly since she’d seen  _ Ran _ multiple times and no longer needed to pay attention to the subtitles at this point. In the semi-darkness of the theatre Bill’s features, his sculpted jaw, sharp cheekbones, patrician nose, were somehow even crisper, more defined, a haunting beauty surrounding him as his eyes, black in the dimness, studied the unfolding cinematic masterpiece.

Movie coming to a close, they strolled out and emerged into the balmy LA evening, Bill sighing appreciatively. “Wow, that was great. Haven’t seen it on the big screen before.”

“Me neither.” Sarah grinned a little, nodding. “Thank you. For inviting me.”

“Thanks for coming.” Bill beamed, head tilting as he took in her diminutive stature. “So…” Puffing out his cheeks, Bill looked up and down the street. “You want to go get some dinner? Maybe?”

Sarah warred with herself. As much as she didn’t want their evening to end, though she, frankly, still couldn’t believe it started, the idea of sitting across from Bill at a restaurant was daunting. But her desire overwhelmed her fears. “Oh, um...sure.”

“Great.” Smiling, Bill pointed to his left. “There’s actually a great little place only a couple of blocks away if you want to check it out.”

“Sure.” Sarah followed Bill’s lead, listening to him discuss Kurosawa trivia with barely contained jubilation before he held the door open to an understated Mexican eatery. Once inside they secured a quiet table near the back, examining the menus.

“So…” Bill made his selection and looked up at Sarah over the brim. “Aside from drawing and movies, what else do you do for fun?”

Gnawing the inside of her cheek at the single salad option before her, Sarah tried to focus. “Oh, well, I…” Raising a shoulder, the corner of her mouth ticked up. “Just reading, mostly. I’m pretty boring.”

“Well I guess that makes two of us.” Bill giggled, taking a sip of his water. “What are you reading now?”

“ _ Heart Shaped Box  _ by Joe Hill.”

Bobbing his head approvingly, Bill smiled. “Great choice. Love that one.” 

The waitress arrived to take their orders and Bill handed back their menus with thanks. “How about you?” Sarah played with the condensation on her glass. “What are you reading?”

“Oh, Alice Munroe, right now.” Grinning, Bill shrugged. “Love her work.” 

They discussed books, Sarah relaxing a tad, before the waitress returned with their food. As Bill chomped into his burrito, Sarah poked a fork noncommittally at her taco salad, trying to think about what came out of her mouth instead of what went inside. But halfway through a story about getting fired from one of his PA jobs, Bill furrowed his dark eyebrows. “Not hungry?”

Sarah gritted her teeth at the almost full bowl. “No, not really. I had an early dinner before I came. Sorry…”

Pausing, Bill dark blue eyes scanned Sarah’s willowy frame, her deflated posture, and he swallowed. Plastering a smile on his face, Bill nodded. “That’s okay, no problem.” 

Developing an amiable, if somewhat halting, rhythm as dinner progressed, Bill insisted on paying the tab before they moseyed back to the theatre, the two of them oscillating on the pavement in front of their cars.

“I had a really nice time.” Bill grinned, hands in his pockets.

Arms crossed at the wrist in front of her, Sarah directed her response to the ground. “Me too.”

“Hey, so, um…” Taking a step forward, Sarah found herself in the shadow of Bill’s tall frame as he delicately touched his fingers to her elbow. “I’d like to see you again.”

Looking up, Sarah searched his deep blue eyes. “Why?”

Bill blinked, brow knit together and lips pursed, “Because you’re interesting...smart...funny…” Lifting a hand, Bill caressed Sarah’s cheek. “Beautiful.”

Sarah cringed and winced away from his touch.  _ Okay, wrong thing to say, apparently.  _ Bill let his arm fall. “Are...do you not want to?”

“No...I mean…” Sarah shook her head, hoping it would cause the thoughts to fall into place. “Yes. Yes, I am, I just…” Frowning, she took a breath. She didn’t want to say anything that would force Bill to give her another fake compliment. “Nevermind. Yeah. Yeah, sure. I would like that.”

“Great.” Bill grinned. “Alright, well…” Taking half a step back toward his sedan, Bill waved. “I’ll see you Monday, then?”

Nodding, Sarah slipped toward her vehicle. “Sure. Thank you.”

***

Lying in bed Bill pondered. Sarah’s constant dismissal and avoidance of food. Her figure. Though it was difficult to tell how thin she truly was beneath her many layers, always present despite the punishing California heat. Rolling over, Bill scooped up his phone and typed in:  _ Eating disorder warning signs. _

For a couple of minutes Bill attempted to read with one focused eye before giving in and snapping up his glasses from the bedside stand. Cramming them into his face, Bill scrolled. Avoiding meals. Anxiety. Perfectionism. It all checked out. Sighing, Bill’s large thumb tapped the side of the screen.

It could be a lot to face possibly, sure. But, as Bill sifted over his thoughts, he realized no one sparked his interest like Sarah for quite some time. Bill missed this feeling. The exhilaration of connecting with a new person, finding common ground, the thrill of attraction and deepening admiration.

Plus, and frankly Bill didn’t like to admit it, but in recent years most people hurled themselves at him like a Lebanese torpedo. Sarah’s demure nature was...intriguing. It wasn’t so much that Bill liked a challenge, or wanted a woman to play hard to get. He simply appreciated that perhaps Sarah might actually see him as a real person, and not some shiny, plastic celebrity over which to go gaga and claim as a trophy prize. 

And so Bill typed in a fresh query:  _ dating someone with an eating disorder _ . As his cobalt eyes absorbed the information, a thin layer of acrid guilt burbled in Bill’s stomach. Bill already inadvertently made more mistakes than he could’ve imagined.  _ Don’t compliment her appearance. Don’t say anything about it at all, in fact. Don’t comment on or police her eating. Don’t...Don’t...Don’t… _

Bill dug deeper, determined to find things he could do to help instead of a mere laundry list of behaviors to avoid. Some of what Bill read gave him competing advice.  _ Touch her without a goal in mind to help release endorphins.  _ Vs.  _ Touching her might bring more attention to her body, which she’s already hyper focused on.  _ Bill supposed that would have to be an open discussion with Sarah as to what made her comfortable. Most sites told him the most important thing was his presence and gently encouraging her to seek professional help. As a big proponent of therapy, Bill made a mental note to ask during their next session if his therapist knew anyone who specialized in the area before he turned on Do Not Disturb and flipped over to go to sleep.

***

For their second date, though Sarah was apprehensive to call it that even in her own head, Bill invited her mini-golfing. Seeing his huge stature bend over, tiny club gripped in his big paws, was incredibly endearing as they made their way around the holes. 

Bill conscientiously chose the activity after mulling over what type of things two people could do together that didn’t center around food. His list was frightfully short when Bill finished, because as much as they both loved film, he didn’t want to spend endless hours in dark theatres unable to talk to Sarah. But Bill was determined to make the night fun and comfortable, slinging out wacky antics and voices, rejoicing as Sarah descended into uncontrollable laughter, mouth hidden behind her sleeve-covered hand.

As the weeks progressed, the two of them found a joyous cadence. Bill unearthed art exhibits, book readings, museum tours, shying awaying from the plentiful summer food festivals and carnivals as he and Sarah became close.

But, as the only time they could spend together at work centered around the break room, a nagging voice in the back of Bill’s mind told him he couldn’t put off the conversation any longer, watching day after day as untouched portions perched before Sarah on the table while they chatted.

When Bill told Sarah he planned to pick her up at 9:30 for their date, her anxiety shifted into apocalyptic levels. Over a month and Bill’s patience was apparently boundless. Apart from the occasional touch to her shoulder, or maybe the small of her back when necessary to guide Sarah through a crowd, Bill didn’t make a move. Didn’t try to kiss her. Hold her. Anything.

Sarah knew why, of course. She wasn’t blind. There was no reason for Bill Hader to carry anything resembling lust for her repulsive existence as far as she was concerned. 

But what she couldn’t understand was why Bill kept calling. Kept taking her out. Kept meeting her for lunch. Was there some kind of Make A Wish program going on no one told her about? Sarah wrote it off that Bill simply wanted another friend. He was a personable, amiable guy, after all.

But, despite the depths of her self loathing, a tiny, reasonable voice in her soul whispered:  _ but what if?  _ That voice held up the image of Bill’s face when Sarah distractedly droned on about a new director she discovered, how Bill leaned his square chin on his fist, light sparking on the ocean of his eyes as he drank her in, nodding softly while the amused smile never left his pink lips.

That voice reminded her of Bill’s words. How when they were discussing  _ The Grapes of Wrath _ , and Sarah made the offhand remark, “You know, Steinbeck really was brilliant. I feel like he truly had a deep understanding of the human psyche. He describes the mentally ill in such a rich, immersive way before we ever had a lexicon for such things.”

Only for Bill to stop, arms falling to his sides. “Damn, you’re astute Sarah.” Gaze darting over her face, Bill sighed and smiled. “So smart. I bet you were a whiz in school, huh?”

Well aware of Bill’s academic struggles due to his anxiety, Sarah figured it would be rude to say that the singular ‘B’ she received in college, lowering her GPA from a 4.0 to a 3.987, still made her lose sleep. And she thought the fact that it was in her Marriage and Family Therapy course altogether too telling about her personality. 

That voice reminded her that Bill quite literally kept telling her that he liked her, that he enjoyed their time together, that he looked forward to seeing her again. But of course, Sarah hardly absorbed those words. Bill was simply being kind. Pitying. Of course.

But Bill wanting to pick her up this late made Sarah nervous all the same as she zipped an extra hoodie over herself in case the night grew chilly and went downstairs to wait. Car parking in front of her building, Bill hopped out and jogged around, opening the door for Sarah with a smile.

Once inside, she spoke up to be heard over the low sounds of  _ Broken Social Scene _ tinkling over the speakers. “So, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” Bill grinned, making a left turn. 

Sarah wanted to tell him he should know better than to think surprises were fun for someone with anxiety, but as Bill was obviously trying to be sweet, she didn’t want to be rude, sitting back in her seat with what she hoped was at least a neutral expression. 

Bill drove out to the hills, Sarah peering curiously out of the passenger window before he rolled to a stop near an abandoned piece of nothing. “Bill, what are we doing here?”

Jumping out, Bill took a blanket from the back seat before opening the door for Sarah. “Come on.”

Taking his big hand in trepidation, Sarah followed as he shook the blanket out over the brush-dotted sand before flopping onto his back. “Alright.” Bill patted the fabric covered ground beside him. “Lay down.”

“Okay…” Sarah sat, positioning herself on the opposite edge. “Bill, um…” Hands tightly woven over her abdomen, she was afraid to glance over at his prone form. “What are we doing here?”

“Just wait.” Bill smiled, crossing his ankles.

Knuckles whitening, Sarah scooted an inch away. “Bill, I...I’m sorry. I’m not ready…”

“Oh shit…” Sitting up, Bill looked at her fearful expression and a wave of nausea hit him. “Sarah, no...that’s not…” Bill shook his head, hand going to his brow. “Fuck, it didn’t even occur to me that you might think that. Shit, I’m so sorry. Sarah, I…” Pointing skyward, Bill sighed heavily. “I brought you out here to look at the stars. There’s a meteor shower tonight. I…” Palms upheld, Bill’s pink lips settled into a flat line. “I would never pressure you, okay?”

Mouth open, Sarah stared at the heavens before her eyes crashed down to Bill. “Oh, I…” Crouching up into a ball, she shook her head. “I feel so stupid…”

“Sarah, no…”

Tucking her face down, tears came unbidden as Sarah folded herself as small as possible, turning away. “I...I can’t believe I thought you wanted to...I’m so dumb…”

“No, Sarah, it’s…” Reluctant to touch her in that moment, Bill tugged on the blanket between them, hoping to encourage Sarah to look at him. “It’s not...I just…” Bill held his breath for a second, the urge to hold, to comfort, nearly overwhelming. “I just...get the sense that your relationship with your body is...complicated. So I’m happy to let you make the timeline is all I’m saying. I don’t mind waiting. And if it never happens.” Lifting a vast shoulder, Bill shook his head. “That’s okay, too. I just like being with you. But it’s not that, I, um…” Bill picked at a loose string, clearing his throat. “It’s not that I don’t find you attractive.”

Red rimmed eyes peeked up at him over Sarah’s crossed arms. “You do?”

“Yeah.” Bill smiled, nodding his head. “I do.”

Sarah unraveled a bit, wiping her cheeks. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want… It’s just hard for me…” Rubbing her wrists together, Sarah ground her teeth. “And I just...I don’t know how to…”

“You don’t need to explain if you don’t want to.” Bill spoke softly. “It’s okay. Really. I’m in no rush.”

Sarah bobbed her head and a silence fell between them. Chest constricting, Bill took a steadying breath. “Sarah, I…” Moving slightly closer to her on the blanket, he placed his hand flat between them. “I’m concerned about you and food.”

Tensing up, Sarah stared at him and Bill’s understanding blue eyes searched her face. “Do you have someone you talk to about it?”

Biting her lip, Sarah sniffed, figuring denial was useless at this point. She knew Bill was no fool. It was only a matter of time before he would notice. “Not...no. I used to. Back home But…” Shaking her head, Sarah swallowed. “Not since I moved out here.”

Bill nodded slowly. “Would you be willing to see someone? I could…” Resting his fingertips atop her own, Bill tilted his head. “I could go with you. If you want.”

Sarah carefully turned her palm, tracing the outline of Bill’s sizable hand in the quiet of the night. Throat tight, she inhaled audibly, eyes stinging. “You would do that for me?”

“Of course.” Bill squeezed her fingers, his touch consoling. “I just want to see you happy and healthy.”

Sarah scooted to Bill, her dainty hands skittish as they coiled around his soft middle and she pressed her wet face into his solid chest. Bill scooped her close and Sarah climbed into his lap. Perhaps the circle of Bill’s powerful arms was not a large area, not one marked by signage or drawn upon a map. But, nestled against the sturdiness of his broad frame, lulled by the rise and fall of Bill’s breathing, the territory was no less significant to Sarah for those reasons. The space was hers to occupy. And within the warmth of Bill’s reassuring hold, Sarah knew she mattered. 


End file.
